The Only
by Felix Dovetail
Summary: After The Last Stand, the Institute attempts to recover from its tragedy. With the Brotherhood regrouping, can a new teacher help the remaining XMen beat Magneto once and for all? It's rated T, but will be changed to M and won't be on the main page soon.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or any X-Men related material. Well, except this story._

_Second, more important disclaimer: I am an amateur fan of the X-Men, so I apologize in advance for any discontinuities in storyline, characters, etc. While I am doing my homework, I really only have the three movies to work from. Also, I apologize for creating an original character, but because of my lack of X-Men character knowledge, I needed to create a vessel for the story. I hope you enjoy, I'll take any kind of review you want to throw at me, the good and the bad…. Did I forget anything?_

_Edit: Fixed a typo: 2 is supposed to be 20._

Wetting her lips, Alex stared out of her bug-splattered windshield at the monolith towering above her. Ivy hid the original brickwork from sight, but she was pretty sure it was old, at least turn of the century. The grounds were meticulous and so well kept that she would not have been surprised to see an elderly gardener measuring and cutting each grass blade by hand. In short, the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning was gorgeous.

It was also intimidating. When, after a month of faxed resumes and phone interviews, Alex accepted the position, she'd no idea what the school would be like. She'd expected some futuristic building of straight lines and steel or perhaps a run-down inner-city hovel where the teachers struggled to make ends meet and keep the building from being condemned, but not a mansion in the middle of acres and acres of space.

She popped the trunk and, heels clicking on the pavement, walked back to retrieve her bags. Her biggest suitcase was heavy and, when she pulled with all her weight, it merely became stuck against the wall of her trunk. Once again, she cursed her decision to dress in a suit. Sure, she was starting a new job, but she was also moving. Alex wanted to make a good impression, but trying to move in stilettos was perhaps the most ridiculous thing she'd done. An exaggeration- it was the most ridiculous thing she'd done that month.

As she yanked her luggage, grunting in the hot sun, the front doors opened. A white-haired woman and a younger boy, probably in his late teens, stepped out. "Miss Genoux?" the woman asked.

Alex smiled politely and hoped that her flushed face and beading forehead weren't noticeable. Abandoning her baggage, she walked over and shook the woman's hand. "That's me. Are you Ms. Munroe?"

"Call me Ororo. Welcome to the Institute." She glanced at the Jetta in the drive. "If you want, I can show you where the garage is."

"Sure, I just need to get one more bag out of the back." Alex shifted in place, embarrassed to have people watch her futilely pull at her stuck suitcase.

Ororo must have sensed her hesitance and pointed to the boy standing with his arms clasped behind his back. "This is Peter Rasputin, one of our senior students. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help you with your things."

Alex's smile turned into a genuine one. "That would be great. Thanks."

"Of course," Peter replied quietly.

Ororo walked towards the car and opened the passenger door. "You drive and I'll direct."

Alex took the driver's position and waited for Peter to close the trunk lid. "Thanks again," she called out the window as she started the engine.

"It's over to the right," the woman told her, pointing in the same direction. "So, was your drive alright?"

"Well, California to Westchester is a long trip, but I made it alright. Took me, what, five days?"

"I told you we would fly you. It was certainly not an inconvenience."

Alex shrugged. "I like my car. I didn't want to sell it. Like I said, I made it alright." Pulling up to the side of the building, two sliding doors were opened by unseen hands, revealing a garage full of sports cars and what looked to be modified street racers. Suddenly she felt embarrassed of her older sedan. "You have quite a collection."

Ororo paused. "They mostly belonged to one of our former teachers. Mine is the Mercedes in the corner." The friendliness had gone out of her voice and the anxiety had returned to Alex's throat. She'd certainly not meant to upset her new employer, and it sounded like she'd struck a cord. However, the woman's face quickly returned to its stiff smile.

Alex parked the Volkswagen and got out. "So, the Institute wasn't really what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't really know," Alex said. "You didn't tell me much on the phone. I mean, you asked a lot of questions, but I didn't really learn much about you."

Opening the door in the back of the garage, Ororo ushered the younger woman into the building. "Well, my name is Ororo Munroe, although most people just call me Storm. I recently took over the Xavier Institute and since then have been trying to recruit enough teachers to teach all of the classes."

"You know I don't have any teaching certificates or anything, right?" Alex asked hesitantly, following the white-haired woman through the maze of halls. "I mean, I just don't understand why you would hire me to teach when-"

Ororo interrupted. "Most of us don't have any formal teaching training. However, we're all here not for our academic qualifications, but our other talents. You are fluent in Italian and French and will be perfectly able to take over foreign language here at the school, but we also have a distinct need for other things you can teach."

"Do you mean my mutant powers? But mine aren't very strong. I can barely figure out how to use them myself. I just don't see why you called me."

"Alex, you saw what happened on the television."

"I was in Berkeley. I _heard_ what happened."

Ororo led her into a large entryway and up a flight of stairs. "Dormitories are on the second floor, including the teachers'.

Well, most people didn't see what really happened. In fact, we've done a pretty good job of covering up the true events of that day." She stopped and turned to face Alex. "There is a group of mutants out there called the Brotherhood. They believe that they are superior to humans and that the only way to gain peace in life is to destroy all those without mutant powers. They are very dangerous and they are the ones behind moving the bridge and everything that happened on Alcatraz that night."

She turned once again and started back down the hall. "We at the Institute follow a different philosophy. We have been bullied at harassed and brutalized by humans. I'm sure you've experienced similar."

Alex nodded, remembering back to her desk job. Would she be here now had it not been for that little accident she'd had? Would she have considered moving across the country to take a position she wasn't qualified for had her co-workers not turned to her, looking from the imploded computer screen to her face, shrinking back in fear? Their thoughts could not have been any clearer had they chased her out with pitchforks. They knew she was a mutant and she was now a threat to people she'd chatted with an hour ago at lunch.

"But our founder, Charles Xavier dealt with the same things we do, except they were even worse for him. He found his powers before the mutant gene had been discovered and people thought he was a monster. But he worked from that time on to better mutant/human relations and many of the civil rights we have now came from bills that he funded. He believed that understanding could be reached and we could live together harmoniously." She stopped, thinking. "I don't know that I necessarily agree with everything he said, but it's certainly a noble cause to work for."

"Certainly," Alex echoed softly.

Storm took out a small key and unlocked a door to their right. Opening it, Alex saw a small wooden-paneled hallway leading into a cream-walled room. They walked into the main space, a spacious but rather plain bedroom. There was a bed, of course, a makeup table across from its foot, her luggage piled into the corner, and a dresser against the inside wall. There was a door between the dresser and a closet that Alex could see leading into a small bathroom, but what caught her attention was the view. Two French doors led to a balcony that overlooked a field of green grass and trees. It was breathtaking.

"Do I share this with someone else?" she asked, not believing her good luck.

"No, this is your room. I know it's a bit plain, but feel free to decorate however you wish- within reason. We've had to ask some of our other professors to take down rather vulgar posters they've put up," Ororo explained, chuckling.

"I don't have any of those," Alex replied quickly.

"I didn't think you did."

Storm plucked the key back from her pocket and placed it in Alex's hand. "If you need anything, please let me know. Breakfast is at seven fifteen on class days, and until ten on days off… lunch is always eleven to twelve… oh, and dinner is usually between six and nine, but on Sundays we all sit down to eat together at seven." When Alex didn't immediately reply, she added, "But you can certainly take your time unpacking. We don't expect you to be there your first night."

"I'll try. Where's the dining hall?"

"Just go down the stairs and take a right. You'll run into it." Suddenly Ororo looked a little nervous. "Alex, I know we haven't previously discussed this, but there is another subject that I need you to teach."

"And that is?" She asked, dreading the answer.

"Health… and Sexuality."

Alex balked. "I really don't think I'm qualified to do anything like that."

"I understand your feelings, but the rest of the professors already have full schedules. You're the only one with free periods."

"I'm sorry, I just don't feel comfortable teaching that class."

"No one feels comfortable teaching fifteen-year-olds about their bodies, but it still has to be done." Alex chewed her lip, hesitating. "May I offer you a twenty percent raise?" Ororo asked.

The condo and mound of unpaid bills from her previous life in California swam into Alex's mind. The sooner she could leave that behind, the better. "Fine," she conceded, "but I'll need some books or something. I'm not exactly up on the whole subject."

"Of course, I'll bring you some at supper. You can also meet some of the other professors." She walked toward the hall. "Welcome to the Institute, Alex, I really think you'll like it here."

"Thank you, Ororo," she called as she heard the door close. Alex quickly ran to the bathroom to relieve herself. It had been a long car trip and she'd barely been able to concentrate on Storm's words. As she flushed and washed her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Despite the fact that she was only 26 and the Institute's head was like quite a bit older, they looked to be the same age. Perhaps Ororo had a young face, but Alex worried that maybe she was the old-looking one. She'd never touched a cigarette in her life, but she'd only taken to wearing sunscreen daily recently.

She'd taken care to straighten her that morning, but with all that had happened since then, flyaways created a blonde halo around her head. The pieces framing her blue eyes and pale skin were beginning to crinkle back into their usual curls. She'd have to get her iron back out and fix them before dinner.

She began unpacking her numerous bags, worry gnawing at her stomach. She'd spoken three languages since she could remember, but being able to do something was far different than teaching it to others. Besides, it sounded like these people wanted her more for her mutant powers than any language she spoke. But how the hell could she help them? Sure, she could jumpstart a car without using any cables, but what good did that do anyone whose battery wasn't dead?

Storm had extended her an invitation to come to the Institute, had looked _her _up, but what if Alex turned out not to be what she was looking for? Would she be fired? She couldn't go back to advertising, her ex-employer had certainly told everyone about what had happened and she was blacklisted from the entire field. She had no money, she had no prospects, and she'd given up any ties she did have to move across the country, which had seemed adventurous at first, but now looked like a foolish idea. Thank god the Institute had turned out to be a real place and a reputable one at that, but sometimes things looked different once you got to know them.

Still, if it waswhat it seemed to be, wouldn't that be wonderful? Alex let herself daydream a little about what life could be like: living in a mansion, never hiding who she was, never fearing her powers getting away from her. She tucked folded panties and socks neatly into dresser drawers, watching the clock to make sure she didn't miss the seven-o-clock dinner call.

As she reached for her final top and walked toward the closet, she suddenly felt strange, like her head was too full. "_Alex…_" a whisper echoed.

She spun around, searching the room for the origin of the voice. "H-hello?" She asked, fear plastering her to her spot.

"_Alex…_" it repeated and pain exploded in her temples. Gasping, unable to cry out from the intensity of it, she fell to the ground, stars exploding in front of her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or any X-Men related material. Well, except this story._

_Second, more important disclaimer: I am an amateur fan of the X-Men, so I apologize in advance for any discontinuities in storyline, characters, etc. Don't forget to review, please…. Did I forget anything?_

Ororo Munroe closed the door to Alexandria Genoux's room and walked toward her office. The girl, other than a bit flighty and insecure, was everything she had expected. She was polite, intelligent, mature… of course she'd no idea what Alex looked like from the phone, but she certainly met the criteria of above-average attractiveness set by previous members of the X-Men. Her slight European accent may have seemed out of place in San Francisco, but fit right in at the Institute, where no one had the same origins.

Of course, what Storm still didn't know about were Alex's powers. While she'd refused to write it on the resume, they had discussed it in depth over the phone. She'd explained, hesitantly, voice wavering, about her accident at work.

Alex had been working on a new advertising campaign for Isuzu for weeks and, when she had presented it, the board of directors was extremely displeased. "Uninspired," and "amateur," had been the major words thrown around and the only victim of the barbs had been Alex's ego. Nervous that she would lose her position, she quickly got to work on revising the campaign. She became so engrossed in the project, she was shocked when the tingling in her hands built up to a point where she lost control. Her computer monitor imploded, the tube bursting loudly, and the screen fell inward.

Alex jumped back, her hands to her chest, at first unsure of what had happened. Then other employees began peering over the cubicle walls and whispers were so thick became a low roar. She quickly hid her hands behind her back, but it was too late. Her co-workers had seen the blue electricity jumping back and forth from her fingertips. Her life as a normal human being was over and her life as a mutant, while a part of her for years, was just beginning.

Ororo went through a similar experience of "coming out," like most of the people at the school. She could understand Alex's feeling, her terror at being exposed, becoming one of the outsiders. However, she also could appreciate the fact that, had this not happened, Alex probably would not have left her human life and certainly would not have considered such a bold move as leaving a good job for the Institute. The conflicting sympathy and serendipity discomforted her, but she still took advantage of the situation.

But now a test was needed. Once Alex became settled, Storm would have to set up the danger room and see her powers in action. Because if Alex didn't have what they were looking for, what they needed, what was the point in bringing her there? But Ororo was fooling herself. If Alex didn't have what they were looking for, where else was there to look? Charles had only left one name on that paper and that was Alexandria Genoux, age 26.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or any X-Men related material. Well, except this story._

_Second, more important disclaimer: I am an amateur fan of the X-Men, so I apologize in advance for any discontinuities in storyline, characters, etc. Please don't forget to review. Also, it should be known that I speak neither French nor Italian, so if you do and see a mistake, let me know and I'll make a fast edit…. Did I forget anything?_

The pain subsided as quickly as it had come on, but auras of red remained in Alex's vision. She had fallen to the floor and a quick check showed she'd scraped up her knee, tearing her hose. "Shit," she swore to herself. She'd only brought the one pair of nude pantyhose, so now she'd have to change her whole outfit.

She looked into her freshly-organized closet, aware that in three days it would be the mess her old one had been, and grabbed a lacy blouse. A pair of jeans came from the dresser and, in a minute, she went from interview-ready to mall-ready. She was mentally uncomfortable meeting the students and professors in something she'd wear to putt putt, but she was physically uncomfortable enough in that suit that she actually had to stop herself from removing her bra.

By now it was six fifty-nine and there was no way she was going to make it to dinner on time. Disappointed in the bad impression she was about to impart, she checked her makeup in the mirror and ran down the staircase. Apparently all the students had made it to the dining room because the halls were empty. Alex's footsteps echoed around her as she passed oil paintings and closed, thick, oak doors. She couldn't help but slow to admire the Victorian architecture and general massiveness of the mansion. The little modern touches, like the security system pad on the wall, kept her from feeling like she was in a museum.

She finally found a propped-open door where the chatter of pubescent teenagers wafted out. As Alex walked inside she saw four tables. Three long cafeteria setups filled most of the room, students sitting on either side. Unlike her high school, in which students would congregate into small cliques, shoving in as close to mutual friends and leaving as much space between them and the shunned "others," the kids were evenly spaced and seemed comfortable talking to anyone who happened to be within shouting distance.

These tables also differed in construction and content. The gorgeously stained cherry tabletops were laden with beef roasts, fresh peas topped with mint and melting pats of butter, creamy soup, and still-steaming pies. It was quite a step away from mystery meat, hot dogs ranging in any crayon box color except the one they were supposed to be, and canned corn that Alex remembered.

The fourth, smaller table was against the far wall, the top covered with the same aromatic meal. The professors were gathered around it, deep in conversation, only occasionally stopping to reprimand an overly loud girl or a boy using less-than savory language. As Alex walked toward this group, a few of the students began whispering and pointing, bringing sweat to gather in her pits. She crossed her arms to hide it, but the flush on her face was out for everyone to see. Sliding into a chair at the professor's table, she hoped her best that she would somehow become invisible.

That was not the case. Ororo immediately swallowed and smiled. "Ah, Alex, I didn't think you would make it."

"I almost didn't."

"Well, it's a good thing you did. Now I can introduce you." She gestured broadly. "Everyone, this is our new foreign language teacher, Alexandria Genoux."

Alex waved shyly and put her hands in her lap. She restrained herself from twisting her napkin, but couldn't seem to keep her gaze on the other professors.

Storm cleared her throat and began pointing at the other teachers. "This man to my left is Hank McCoy."

"Charmed, I'm sure," he said, extending his hand for Alex to shake.

"Hank works as an ambassador for mutant rights, but in his extra time, he teaches science and math here at the Institute.

I teach history and ethics and Rogue, on my right, is currently teaching humanities."

The girl to which Ororo was referring had strange white streaks running through the front of her dark hair, but what caught Alex's attention was her age. She didn't even look old enough to have graduated high school, let alone be a teacher. "Did you just start as well?" she asked.

"Rogue recently graduated from the Institute and spent this summer training for a teaching position," Storm explained.

Rogue put out her hand, then flinched as Alex took it in hers. "Just call me Marie," she drawled.

"Nice to meet you."

"And finally this is Peter Rasputin, whom you met earlier," Ororo said.

"Good to see you again, Peter."

"Peter will not be teaching this year, as he has other priorities, but he and Bobby Drake will be helping us with chaperoning and general care and discipline of the students."

Alex looked around the table. Except for two empty chairs, there was no one else. "Bobby Drake?" she inquired.

Marie answered. "Bobby was visiting his family in Boston, but his flight back got cancelled. If he can't get a flight back by tonight he said he'd rent a car." Alex nodded in understanding, then went back to staring very hard at the food on her plate. Meeting new people was never her strong point, and while they all seemed very nice, she was at a loss for words.

"So, Alex, tell us about yourself," the Beast said, attempting to make conversation.

"Oh, I don't know, I'm not very interesting. My parents… well, they had a vineyard. My mom was from France and my dad was Italian." She stopped, unsure of why she'd brought up the previous information. "I went to college at Berkeley-"

"The University of California?"

"Yes, U of C," Alex replied, confirming the Beast's question. "I got my BA in Psychology there and I've been working in the advertising industry ever since."

Peter creased his brow. "How does a Psychology degree get you into advertising?"

"I'm not really sure. I guess when I applied my bosses thought that a Psych degree would help me get into the minds of the consumers. But I never had a successful account. What about you guys? How did you end up here?" She relaxed in her seat slightly. This wasn't so hard, right?

"We all were students here at one time or another," Storm explained. "Hank was one of Charles Xavier's first pupils. We've stayed on long enough that we've taught Rogue- I'm sorry, Marie and Peter and now they're teachers too."

"It's so weird. This place has obviously been around for a very long time, but I didn't know about it at all until you called me, Ororo,"

"You're a mutant, right?" Marie asked.

Alex blushed, but what was there to hide? "Yes, I'm a mutant."

"Then you must know how hard it is," she blurted. "How people look at you when they find out? It's like, even people you've known your whole life suddenly see you as a giant bug, like in _Metamorphosis_. They're afraid to even be in the same house." Rogue's face hardened in an attempt to hide the pain that had come into her eyes. "Can you imagine if everyone knew about the Institute? It would be the whole world reacting like that. At least here mutants can be themselves, be safe."

The table was temporarily silenced by Marie's outburst, but eventually Hank scooped up an entire third of the latticed pie. "This stuff is delicious. Do you think Patty would be willing to make it again?"

"I'm sure she would, if you told her how much you like it," Storm replied, getting herself a piece. "Alex, are you a strawberry rhubarb fan?"

"I'm not sure that I've ever had it, but I like that strawberry pie they have at Denny's."

Hank scoffed. "That's not real pie. Here, hold out your plate." He pushed a slice onto her plate. "Enjoy."

She delicately cut a bite of the skinny end of the piece and chewed it. Hank was right: the pie didn't taste overly sugary or fake. Rather, it was both tart and sweet with real strawberries and rich in its buttery, flaky crust. "That's some good pie," Alex laughed, her mouth still full, then covered it and swallowed. "Much better than Denny's."

As she went for another bite, heavy footsteps entered the room and Storm frowned. "And where have you been?" she inquired, her tone biting, just as Marie squealed, "You're back!"

Alex turned to see a rather short, broad-shouldered man in a stained wife-beater walking toward the table, his black boots clicking. His dark hair curled strangely on both sides of his head and a thick, disheveled beard covered his rugged face. His thick eyebrows scowled at them and between his fingers he held a smoldering cigar. "Around," he quipped, roughly pulling out one of the empty chairs and plopping down. "Glad to see you've missed me." He was now close enough to her that she could smell the bourbon emanating off him and she could see his red, puffy eyes.

Getting to her feet, Ororo pressed her fingers against the table and leaned toward him. "Well, you can't just go disappearing when you feel like it. You have a responsibility to the students. And please put out that cigar, you know smoking isn't allowed in the building."

He just smiled. "Who's the blonde?"

"We're not finished here, Logan…"

"I am."

"Fine, but we _will_ discuss this later," Storm sighed. "Alex, this is Logan, our resident rebel and physical education director. Logan, this is Alexandria Genoux, our new foreign language… and health teacher."

She shot a look at Ororo, but quickly wiped it off her face. She had agreed to teach the damn class, hadn't she? "Hi," Alex said, extending an arm to the wolfish man across the table.

Logan looked at her outstretched hand for moment, then took drag off of his cigar. "Health class, eh? You some kind of sexpert?" His words were muffled as he chewed on the thick roll, but his cocked eyebrow was obvious enough.

Her mouth dropped open as her ears began to burn. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you?"

He stared her up and down, then pushed back from the table. "Might want to get your ears checked then. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I've been on the road all evening. I am going to catch a shower." He gave a dramatic bow. "Good to see you're doing well, Marie," he told her, bringing a smile and a blush to her cheeks. And then he was gone.

"W-well… I…." Alex stammered.

"I apologize, Alex," Storm told her, reaching over the table and touching her open palm. "I'd say that Logan is just upset because of some personal tragedy that's he's experienced, but really he's usually like that. That still doesn't excuse him."

"He's nice if you get to know him," Rogue said softly.

The group chatted until all of the plates on the table had been scraped clean and no more were brought from the kitchen. While Alex enjoyed the conversation, she still did not reach the level of comfort she had before Logan had joined them. He was cocky and cruel, but she had the feeling that, like most bullies she had met, he was most likely hurting inside- not that this excused his behavior. Alex had gone through a lot of crap in her own life, but she didn't treat people like that. It bothered her when people used their own negative experiences to justify treating people in the same manner.

They finally all excused themselves and worked their way into various areas of the mansion. Students had dispersed to various activities and Alex could hear two battling television shows coming from rooms down the hall. She passed an expansive library and was surprised to see that students were actually reading inside. In her day, the library was filled with dog-eared, antique classics and necking teens.

She considered sitting down and joining some of the students who, from what she could hear, were watching re-runs of _Lost_, but decided against it. The long drive had suddenly caught up with her and her eyes stung with the need for sleep. She could simply look over the books and literature Ororo had given her until she dozed off.

Alex realized how tired she was when she walked up the stairs and had to catch her breath at the top. Stumbling slowly over her own feet, she attempted to remember which pocket she'd put her keys in, feeling on top of her jeans for their bulge. The teachers' dorm was quiet and empty, no light coming from under any of the bedroom doors. The window at the end of the hall allowed a warm breeze to gently ruffle the lace on her shirt as she finally fished out the keys and unlocked her room.

As she stepped inside the dark hallway, she could feel a slight wind coming from in there as well. Puzzled, as she didn't remember opening her balcony, she felt around for a light switch. She'd never turned it on when she was unpacking- the sun had been bright enough through the windows she hadn't needed it- so she'd never figured out where it was located. As she studied the walls of the main room in the moonlight, she heard a rustle behind her.

Spinning around, she scanned the black for the origin. Her heart was beating in her throat- the sound was louder than just a household noise. When she was a child, each little creak and pop in her villa had her holding her breath, but this was different. She wasn't as child and this wasn't her imagination.

Holding her breath, she listened for another rustle. Seconds passed, until finally she exhaled and sucked in another breath. Alex couldn't hear anything, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that there was another presence in the room. Still looking around, she began inching toward the bathroom, her arm outstretched for the switch. Just as her fingers touched the edge of the plate, another hand grabbed hers. Gasping, she turned to see a burning orange ring in the darkness.

Alex jumped backwards, dropping her books, but he had a good hold on her arm. "Let… me… GO!" she yelled, pushing away, but all she managed was to hit her head on the dresser behind her.

The light switched on and suddenly both she and the other person were bathed in yellow light. "Now princess, I came to apologize for my behavior and this is how you greet me?" Logan took the cigar from his mouth, flicked his ashes onto the white tile floor, and smiled a slow, wicked grin. It was obvious that he wasn't apologizing and he still hadn't let go of her hand.

Her head throbbing both from the bump and the terror crawling up her spine, Alex weighed her options. All of the teachers were still downstairs, so there was little point in screaming. In fact, it might piss the guy off, which would put her in a worse situation. She could kick him in the testicles and run for it, but once again, there was no one around and she couldn't imagine trying to outrun him. She was scared shitless, but all she could do was at least put up a good front. "How… How did you get in here, Logan?" she stuttered. Damn, that front was already gone.

"Well, I jumped onto your balcony and then I used these," he said, knives sliding out like switchblades from between his knuckles and into the wooden door frame, "to pick the lock."

"Oh holy Christ!" Alex breathed, her eyes widening. The blades reflected the line of lights above the bathroom mirror, their curved edges razor sharp. One move and she'd be dead on the floor, no questions asked. But as quickly as they had come out, Logan retracted the knives back into his hand. She watched in amazement as the wounds they had created quickly healed around themselves, leaving not even the trace of a scar.

He watched her with a strange intensity, gauging her reaction, but his gaze was not quite focused. Looking into his eyes, she could see both pain and heavy intoxication. Noticing her focus, he quickly hid his emotions behind a lecherous grin and threw his cigar into her bathtub. "So are you going to accept my apology?"

She smiled the most sincere smile she could manage, which at the moment probably wouldn't pass on picture day. Her hand trembled underneath his, belying anything she said. "Of course I accept your apology. Thank you for stopping by." Alex tried to pull away, but he simply grabbed her left hand, pinning it to the other side of the frame.

"Good, good." He began to lean forward, his hot breath on her face. Eyelids closed slightly, he puckered up his mouth, aiming for her own lips. Had it not been horrifying, Logan's face might have been hilarious. She leaned back as far as she could manage, avoiding his kiss, but with his strength that wasn't very far.

As his lips brushed hers, the alcohol in his breath seeping into her nostrils, there was a knock at the door. His eyes opened sleepily, confused by the interruption and Alex took advantage of his stupor. Twisting her hands around to grab his wrists, she let go of the force inside her fingers.

Logan's eyes jolted open and he choked, falling to the floor. "Shit!" He breathed, holding his hands to his chest and curling into the fetal position. He twitched as Alex, no longer supported by his grasp, fell backwards into the bed. She'd barely given him a shock, but he reacted like he'd been hit by a train. She almost stopped to ask if he was okay, but her need for self-preservation sent her running for the door.

_Author's Note: I know you guys are reading: I've had almost 400 hits on this story alone! However, I've only gotten one review. Whether you guys love the story or hate it, please let me know. A quick review makes all the work I've been putting into the story worth it, not to mention the boost of ego gets the chapters out faster. So please review and thanks in advance!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or any X-Men related material. Well, except this story._

_Second, more important disclaimer: I am an amateur fan of the X-Men, so I apologize in advance for any discontinuities in storyline, characters, etc. Please don't forget to review. Oh, and remember: beware the dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup…. Did I forget anything?_

Logan pulled himself off the floor and drug his shaking body to the balcony. He felt like he'd been tasered, not that he'd personally let anyone get close enough to actually ever do that. Gathering what little strength he had left, he jumped the six or so feet to his room's balcony next door and laid down on his bed.

The shock still had his ears ringing and his mouth felt like he'd been chewing a piece of aluminum foil. The electricity, though just a small jolt, had run down the Adamantium bonded to his skeleton, a perfect conductor. Alex had gotten him good.

When he'd come up from dinner, he wasn't sure why he had broken into her room. Sure, she was cute, but there was something else there. She was small and shy and it felt good to scare her. But that still didn't explain things. Logan had done a lot of shit in his time, but terrifying weak women wasn't one of them. His only explanation was that he was drunk and he was angry and he wanted a way to release it.

He couldn't remember if he had ever really loved Jean. She'd been beautiful and certainly an infatuation from the moment he'd met her, but _love_? She'd never reciprocated such an emotion, and could wanting to be with someone but never having them be considered a romance? They'd only known each other a few short weeks before she died that first time and that had been under extreme circumstances. She'd _loved_ Scott and Scott had _loved_ her enough to put up with her bullshit and die for her. Logan had simply pined from afar. Had she slept with him, would he have ever wanted more?

But time and death had a way of changing things on a person. It slowly eroded the truth and left him an empty hole that he thought had been love. He forgot that she had never belonged to him and that she'd chosen Scott over him every time. His imagination invented some sort of secret liaison between the two of them, and concocted a very real pain for him to suffer.

As he had reached Jean among the wreckage and ruin she'd wrought, he'd told her he loved her, he'd die for her. They seemed like the right words to say at the time, and hell, she was a psychic. If he hadn't meant them, wouldn't she have known? He'd used this evidence to convince himself of what he wasn't sure of and the anguish of killing her, watching her die filled in the rest.

Those first couple of weeks Logan was able to manage. He devoted himself to helping Ororo. He allowed himself to grieve, but did not wallow in it. But the more he thought about it, the worse things got. His mind became confused as to what was true and what he wanted to be true. Once school let out and he no longer had a routine and focus, he lost it. He stayed in bed all day, only getting up when Marie came to chat- she was a different person after taking a shot. But then he started drinking, and once he did, it seemed he couldn't stop.

When he was drinking, things didn't seem so bad. He would lose control, but it was okay because when he was drunk, he didn't have to have control. The comfortable numbness and delirium didn't ever have to leave, just as long as he didn't stop imbibing.

Ororo gave him an ultimatum: alcohol or the Institute, so he hopped on one of Scott's old choppers and headed up to Alkali Lake, a backpack of Shine on Georgia Moon jars rattling against one another. He rented a cheap, seedy motel room and sat by the beach, just drinking and watching- for what, he wasn't sure. When the booze was gone, he went and bought another backpack full. This went on until the cash in his wallet, which was sparse to begin with, ran out and so did the alcohol. He grabbed the last remaining Georgia Moon and headed back to the school.

It was supposed to last him the rest of the month, but there is was on his desk, open and only half full. It had stupidly led him into the next door room where he had terrified a new teacher and, sadly enough, gotten his ass kicked. The irony of it was, he had planned on genuinely apologizing to Alex. With Jean's death, he'd reverted somewhat to who he'd been before he'd met Charles, but there was still civility left somewhere inside him.

But when he'd turned on the lights, he saw Alex's eyes. Logan had only slept with one prostitute in the few years that he could remember. He'd hired her to come to his hotel room and when she showed, she was scantily clad, wearing little more than a seductive smile. But when he'd told her to take her shirt off and then ordered the bra off too, her manner changed. She wasn't a woman anymore, she was a scared little girl. He watched her eyes widen in fear as she slowly unbuttoned her top, but he could also see something else in there. It was acquiescence; she'd given up fighting long ago.

He still slept with her, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see hers, but in the morning, he tried to make it up to her. He offered her extra cash, some breakfast, a place to stay. He promised that, if she needed help, he'd take care of her. "I take care of myself," she shot back, grabbing her purse and heading towards the door. Logan grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around. Her face was fiery, determined, but her eyes still held that frightened, cowering child. Alex had the same look.

It had set him off guard, sucker-punched him. His whiskey-addled mind, which at this point wasn't doing much thinking at all, wanted to kiss her, both because the child in her would not fight back and because it would somehow make that little girl less real. Young girls don't kiss old guys in the dark. But of course, he had underestimated Alex, because young girls also don't electrocute men and leave them writhing on the floor.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts, but didn't rouse him from his bed. Sniffing, he knew that it was Marie and Alex, probably come with torches chanting, "Burn the witch!" He listened as there was one more knock and Marie said, "See, he's probably asleep," and they walked down the hall. Perhaps not.

Grabbing the second half of the Georgia Moon, he settled back into his memories. After that prostitute, he'd spent a long time wondering how a girl got to be like that. Maybe it was the issue of sleeping with guys for money or maybe it was because her daddy hit her at night when she was young. And while Logan, the stoic man capable of even the most gruesome acts, would have never told anyone, a secret anxiety crept inside his mind that perhaps girls like that were made by wolverines with a penchant for hard liquor and a need to have someone more afraid than them.

_Author's Note: To those who are not whiskey aficionados, Shine on Georgia Moon is a particularly terrible corn whiskey made in Kentucky. Its flavor is reminiscent of gasoline and, as a person who enjoys whiskey, I would use this to clean my sink. It's not even a good mixer. A man who enjoys Georgia Moon is a man with a death wish. Don't forget to review!_


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